The Return Of Rolling Heads
by Hlbur14
Summary: Ichabod Crane is called back to Sleepy Hollow, recieving a letter by fifteen year old Amanda. Her parents murdered, she and the rest of Sleepy Hollow need help. Can he protect Amanda and her brother as well as himself, Katrina and Young Masbath? TB film
1. Prologue

Life in Sleepy Hollow was perfect, bright and normal. With the Horseman gone, everybody could return to a normal, care-free life, something they had wished for a long time. The horrific memories began to fade, but slowly. The village could now live up to its name: have no people panicking about who would die next, but become quiet and calm. People no longer died by loosing their heads, but by natural causes. If only it could stay that way forevermore.

The Thatcher family were having their late dinner, smiles all around. They ate in candle light, the light on the walls around them flickering along with the flame. They were not rich or poor, but they had enough money to earn a happy living.

Rebecca Thatcher sat beside her beloved husband, Alexander Thatcher. The two had decent jobs; Rebecca as a maid, Alexander as a horse trainer. They were the proud parents on two children: fifteen year old Amanda and nine year old Patrick. All of them were beautiful people, inside and out.

Alexander had rich yellow hair, cut short and scruffy upon his head. His facial features were sharp and strong looking. His eyes were bold, a pale blue and glistened, much to his wife's desire. He was well built, his body making him look like a born to be fighter. Born to be a man who would protect his family if ever a threat crossed their path.

Rebecca was a dark beauty. With long, chocolate brown hair and summoning brown eyes, it was a matter of time before someone accused her of being a witch, despite her gentle and childlike nature. Alexander knew the risk of his wife being accused, vowing to himself that when the time came, he would fight to protect his wife. He also knew that the same went for his daughter.

Amanda was a strong, capable child, taking on the looks of her mother. Her brown hair was also long, her silky locks reaching to the small of her back, tamed to stay there. As delicate as she looked, she had the same ability to fight like her father. But she was raised to be a lady, told to never think of violence. She was to help Rebecca to pick flowers for the house, prepare the food with her and to stay away from the Western Woods. It didn't matter if the Horseman was gone. The Western Woods was still a haunted place.

Patrick was a small, innocent boy with a heart of gold, just like Rebecca. He never thought badly of anyone. If he quarreled with his sister, he would be the one to apologize first. His hair was about two shades darker than Alexander's, groomed out of his eyes and flat on his head. His face was still that of a child but it was still clear that he would look more like his father.

"Potato, Amanda?" Rebecca asked Amanda who sat diagonally opposite her, holding out a tray of crispy potatoes.

"No, thank you." Amanda answered, smiling warmly. Rebecca pulled them away, placing them back in the middle of the table. Amanda had very little on her plate, having only two slices of beef and small amounts of peas and carrots. Everyone else's had a lot more on their own.

"You not hungry?" Alexander asked, eyeing her plate. His daughter shook her head, cutting at the meat and placing a bit into her mouth. She wasn't hungry at all, actually. She felt ill, and yet she had eaten very little to cause her to feel that way. It was a feeling of unease.

"Why not?" Rebecca asked, worry in her voice.

"Don't fret, mother." Amanda assured her, smiling. "I'll still eat, I just don't want to waste anything." Rebecca stared at her for a moment longer before sighing, resuming to eat from her own plate. Amanda kept glancing at the window by her side, watching the rain fall and listening to the thunder.

"Mother, I'm finished!" Patrick cheered after a few minutes. His plate was clean as was his parents. They grinned at him. Amanda ignored him, using her folk to play with her food. She felt even more sick after have a few bits of beef. Her stomach felt twisted, coiled up like a snail in a tight shell. Under the table, away from the other's eyes, her hand clutched onto her stomach, trying to ease the uncomfortable pain. Her dress was too thick for her to get a hold of her flesh, however.

"Mandy, you don't look so good." Alexander said, using his daughter's nickname. "And you have hardly touched your dinner."

"I think I need to go to bed." she murmured, rising from her chair. As she straightened up, her stomach straightened out, causing it to twist in protest. She held back a wince. What was wrong with her? Everyone stayed silent as they watched her leave, concern in their eyes.

Amanda climbed up the small staircase, hunched over to let her stomach recoil. She felt that she needed to vomit, but her stomach had nothing in it to regurgitate. As she went into her and Patrick's room, she collapsed onto her bed and tucked her legs up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Maybe she was coming down with a fever, or perhaps the bread she ate this morning was off. That's what she wanted to believe. She knew it was something more.

Amanda woke in the night to the wailing wind against her window. She bolted up right on her bed, the sheets around her flinging away from her body. Her parents must have tucked her in when she had fallen asleep. She saw Patrick's silhouette across the room, tucked in a ball on his own bed. He didn't stir at the loud sound that came from the window by his bed.

Amanda climbed out of bed, silently walking over to the window. It was then that she heard the wail of a horse down below. She raced over and peered outside, only to regret it entirely. Moments later, Rebecca came racing into their room, her face filled with panic.

"Amanda, Patrick!" she gasped in a hushed voice. Even then she sounded strained.

"Mother!" Patrick cried, shooting up on his mattress. He was silenced when Rebecca raced over to him and took him in her arms, grabbing Amanda's hand as she did. She took the children out of the room and down stairs. Amanda heard banging on the wooden door and caught a glimpse of her father pressed against it, using all of his strength to keep it shut. They were then led down the hall and into the kitchen. Patrick was put back on his feet as Rebecca fell to the floor, yanking open a trap door.

"Get in." she snapped in a whisper. "Follow the tunnel. Don't make a sound."

Amanda began to cry as she pulled Patrick into the floor, yelping in a broken whisper as Rebecca slammed the trap door shut behind them. They crawled in the darkness, completely blind, until they could go no further in the earth. They sobbed in whispers, Amanda holding her brother to her chest as he soaked her dress. The pain in her stomach was worse than ever, screaming at her, twisting and coiling continually. She did her best to ignore it, to listen to the distant noises above.

She heard the door cave in, heard the sound of blade smashing blade. She heard the angry roar of her father, the scream of her mother. Then she heard the _thud, thud, thud_ of something on the wooden floor, like a ball. Patrick clung even tighter to Amanda, almost taking the breath out of her, like a snake choking its prey. He knew what she knew. He was trying to block out the sickening noise, trying to focus on his sister's racing heartbeat instead.

"Go back to hell! Monster! Monster!" came the faint cries of their mother, a mix of fright and fury in her voice as it echoed toward the children. They knew why she was screaming. They knew that she was trying to get someone's, anyone's, attention in the outside world. Her last words were, "He's back! The Horseman is back!" before the _thuds_ followed. Amanda was the one to be the snake next, crushing herself tighter yet to her little brother, squeezing her eyes shut into his hair. The footsteps of the monster began to fade, heavy on the wooden planks. And as he left, the agony in Amanda's stomach also faded, unraveling itself and relaxing, aching from being coiled up for so long. Both children did the opposite.

The Horseman was back at Sleepy Hollow, chopping off heads where he found them.


	2. A Lost Girl And A Lost Boy

_Dear Ichabod Crane,_

_Sleepy Hollow is at the mercy of the Horseman. I, on the behalf of Sleepy Hollow's people, beg for you to come and help us. You are our only hope. Please come back. Myself and my brother witnessed our parents' death so this is no lie. Everybody is so frightened here, so I had no choice but to summon you. Save us, Ichabod, save us from the monster within the Western Woods, in Gods name!_

_Yours faithfully,_

_Amanda Thatcher._

I re-read the letter in my hands through my tears. It was the best I could come up with. I had heard the story of Ichabod Crane and his time here, so he was the only hope we had. It had only been six months that he had come. I had heard that Katrina Van Tassel and Young Masbath had also left with him to start a new life in the city. I never met him, or saw him for that matter, as our parents had kept us hidden and out of trouble during the Horseman's rampage. I had met the other two, I was even friends with Young Masbath (despite being three years younger than me), and I had felt sad when I couldn't comfort him for the loss of his father. But he had people to comfort him, had a father figure. We had neither. We were just children, lost sheep in a huge field. No one cared about us.

Me and Patrick had stayed underground all night, both of us sobbing hard into each other. He had trembled in my arms so hard it had shook me, too. I had tried to shush him, tried to assure him that everything would work itself out. I just needed to believe the words. And then, just an hour after dawn, someone found the bodies. The scream that traveled down to us was enough to let us know. It was then that I decided that we needed to go and face the horror.

Father had been slumped by the door, headless, the sharpest and biggest kitchen knife in his hand. Mother wasn't far away from him, on her back by the kitchen door. She was the first thing we saw. The woman who found them was a maid who must have been passing by and heading to a household in the village. She must have seen the smashed in door. I had climbed out on the hole, carrying Patrick with his face nuzzled into the base on my throat. He still sobbed only he had no tears left to shed. The woman had gasped when she saw us, her hand flying to her mouth. She must have called for help when we were crawling up, because behind her were two horrorstruck men. I stared at them blackly.

"He's back." was all I said, and they knew what I meant.

The maid, Annie Smith, said she could take us in but only for a few days as she was not fit to take care of us. She was only young, possibly nineteen. I didn't care that she couldn't take us in. I didn't want her to. I just wanted to avenge our parents.

So here I was writing a letter in her tiny living room, Patrick fast asleep beside me on the arm chair, me sitting on the arm. He trembled now and then. How could I blame him? We were alone as Annie had left for work anyway. She said that we could wash up and help ourselves to food whilst she was gone, which was good enough for me.

I was satisfied with the letter so I folded it in half and stood up, walking to the fire which was ablaze in front of us. On the floor were two red candles, one half melted and the other looking brand new. I picked up one and held it to the fire, the string coming alight. I then took the other and began melting the other candle with the lit one, red wax falling onto the fold to seal it. When finish, I blew the flame out, replacing the candles back on the floor.

"God… help us." I breathed in a broken whisper to myself as I stared out of the window across the room. It was dull outside, as quiet as the dead, the gloom matching my feelings. Cold, dark and uninviting. I shivered. The past few hours had made me sour, despite my sorrow, as my mind was clouded with lustful revenge. The Horseman would pay for the loss of mine and Patrick's parents. I vowed that.

Patrick began to stir in front of me on the chair, shivering as he began to come around from his slumber.

"Mandy?" he asked groggily. I walked over to him, taking him safely in my arms.

"Shh, I'm right here. I shall always be here with you, darling." I whispered into his ear, his arms slinking around my waist and clinging to me.

"Promise?" he choked into my stomach. I stood above him, threading my fingers through his dark blond hair, something mother did to reassure him when he was frightened, whether it was a spider on the floor to lightening in the heavens.

"Promise. I will never leave you, darling. Never." he sighed shakily and I knew that he had his eyes closed.

"I love you, Amanda. I do not say it enough." he croaked. I went down to his level, me crouching down on the floor before him on the chair. I stared deep into his pale blue eyes, father's eyes, and cupped his face in my hands.

"I love you, too. More than anything possible. Don't forget that." I said and he nodded, leaning in to plant a kiss on my cheek. I held him close for a few moments, never wanting to let my little brother go. He was all I had left now, my main priority. I would give my life for him, just like mother and father had given theirs for ours. Tears fell down my cheeks and into Patrick's hair, but he didn't care, and neither did I. All that mattered was that we had each other, safe in one another's arms. But then I remembered the letter in my hands.

"Come on. We must find a messenger to go to New York." I whispered, releasing all of him but his hand. I stared up at me as I brushed away the tears.

"A messenger?" he asked, puzzled momentarily. I stroked his cheek.

"Remember the story of Ichabod Crane?" I asked. He nodded once stiffly. "Well, I think that he is our only hope. I have wrote a letter for him to come back to Sleepy Hollow." I explained. He said nothing but I knew he understood. I squeezed his hand before pulling him along. We left the living room and into the small hall, leading straight up to the wooden door. I heaved it open and stood in the doorway for a moment. I then took a deep breath before I led the way into the cool mist of Sleepy Hollow's panicked town.

People stared at us, concern and sorrow clear in their faces. I ignored them, pulling little Patrick along, keeping close to my body. Some bowed their heads, others jumped away from us. Perhaps they were frightened of us as we might be the next victims. More than likely. No one in this good forsaken village cared about others, only worrying about how to keep their heads from being lobbed off. Someone, much to my distaste, came up to us and questioned us. I never saw his face, keeping my head and eyes lowered.

"Is it true? Is the Horseman back?" he demanded, not caring how grief stricken we were. I ignored him, weaving us around him and carrying on. He called after us in protest but I kept going. More stares, more murmurs, more squeals of fear. But then I found who I was looking for, also staring at us.

I strode right up to Henry Bristol, a man with a wrinkled face, fallen eyes and an aging body. His hair was graying, tied back in a loose, untidy tail on the back of his head. He had been good friends with our father, very loyal and a capable messenger, despite his age. He watched us approach, his face guarded from what I could tell.

"Sir Bristol." I greeted in a low, dark voice. I stared at him in the face, showing no weakness. Patrick was partly behind me, using my body to shield him from the man before us.

"Miss Thatcher, Young Thatcher." he nodded quietly, his eyes flickering to my brother and back to me. "I am sorry for…" he began for I held up my hand, my palm facing him.

"No, don't say those words. Don't even think them." I snapped, wanting to get to the point. His mouth snapped closed. I held out the letter to him. "If you want to be any use to us, take this letter to New York and seek out Ichabod Crane. Make sure he receives this letter. Do not stop on you way. If he should accept, bring him here yourself. Can you do that for us?" I ordered, staring hard into his icy gray eyes. He stared at me for a moment before slowly taking the letter, tucking it away in his breast pocket, nodding. "Good. I expect you back in four days." I added sternly.

"Yes, madam. And it shall be free off charge." he said, bowing his head and moving away toward the stables just down the path, the very place my father had worked the day before. I shivered. I had to stay strong, had to stay bold. I needed to make a wall mentally in my mind, something to help shield me from my grief. I needed to focus on taking care of Patrick, not weeping around like a child. That was for him, not me. I was practically his mother now. Right then, as I worked on making my shield, I realized that the child I had been was dead, along with mother and father. She was no longer there, the inner girl with barely any responsibility. I was a woman in a fifteen year old body. Patrick did have a motherly figure. Me. But I had nothing of the sort. And, to be honest, I did not care.

"I want to see Rusty." Patrick suddenly said, his voice croaking from sobbing. He had finally stopped, but of course he was trying to be strong for me, otherwise he would have still been weeping.

"Of course." I said, looking down at him and forcing a tiny smile. He returned the tiny favor.

Rusty was his horse, a horse of a young age. Five months old, and he was still strong enough to carry him. He was a beautiful young animal, sure to grow to be a fine stallion. He was still scrawny, his long legs looking delicate under his own weight. He got his name from his colour, a dirty brown and a white ankle on his front left leg. His main had grown into his eyes, black against the brown. His eyes still looked absurdly big.

We walked into the stables that Henry Bristol had just left from, two gray horses pulling a black carriage, him upon it. He wore his business top hat, and he bowed his head slightly as he past us. Once inside the wooded red building, Patrick released my hand to seek out his horse, who was in his stable at the end.

Next door to Rusty was Stardust, my three year old horse. She was a strong, capable mare and was very loyal to me. _Very_ loyal. I had been there on the day of her birth, helping father heave her out of her own mother. I knew that she was going to be mine, but I realized that I was going to have a beautiful mare. She was black and white, with a white spot on her forehead. Her main was also white, thin on the right of her neck and resting in the center of her face. And she was mine! I strode up to her and walked into her stable. She tapped her hoof on the floor, feeling my grief.

"Shush, girl." I murmured, resting my hands on her cheeks and putting my forehead to hers. She nudged me, something she did to return the gesture, and I cracked a grin. During the time of the Horseman's rampage, I had seen less and less of her, but I made sure that I visited her each day. She'd give me the same greeting each time, nudging my head with her own. She made a slow rumbling sound, something she did when she felt calm. It was only with me that she did that. Father had struggled with her when I was unable to see her, and he had told me that she would not allow him to pet her. He'd told me that I was lucky to have such a loyal horse.

"You'll be seeing a lot of me now, girl." I whispered to my friend. She nudged me again and I sighed. I heard Rusty yapping excitedly at Patrick's presence next door, but I didn't hear Patrick's giggles like normal. He soon quieted down, also sensing his sadness. I knew that Rusty would be a loyal horse, too.

I then prayed silently that Ichabod would come. I prayed that I could have the patience of four days. Four days… it seemed so long. Three long, restless nights, four stretching days. I just hoped that all would be calm for four days and three nights.


	3. The Signs Of Terror

The forth day had arrived. The sun broke through the clouds, leaving Sleepy Hollow a misty mix of orange and grays. I was up early that morning, unable to sleep. I had suffered for three nights with Patrick, waking to his heartbreaking screams and thrashing under our bed sheets of Annie Smith's house. Sharing a bed was difficult when he kicked and punched my in his anguish, his nightmares taking control of his small, fragile body. I had multiple bruises on my body from his blows, but I never yelled at him to stop, only forced him awake to comfort him. Annie Smith worried for us, also coming in on those dreadful nights to help comfort the child. Patrick was a ghost now, so pale and empty. His eyes were dark from lack of sleep, red around the rims. My heart broke at the sight of him.

I'd snuck out early that morning, knowing that he was safe with Annie Smith awake in the house. She'd watched me go, ensuring that he would be fine with her. I wouldn't be gone long anyway. I headed for the barn, the horses snoozing in their stables. Stardust was the only one awake, awaiting my arrive.

"Hello, Stardust." I said, walking into her stable and moving behind her. There, on the wall, I found her saddle, head collar and reins. "Ready for a stroll?" I asked her. Her tail swished into my face, and I smiled. It was still sad on my lips. I gently placed the saddle on her strong back, tying it into place under her belly. I shook it to make sure it was stable. I then went to her front, putting on the head collar. She shook her head, and I saw that that too was stable on her face. With that, I attached the reins and climbed onto her back, gently tapping her side with my foot to tell her to go. She walked out slowly, me guiding her out of the stables and into the morning fog.

We walked back and forth, seeking any sign of new arrivals, but saw no one. It was a few hours until Patrick came looking for me, hand in hand with Annie Smith. I smiled gratefully at her, glad that she let him come and find me. She had her hair in a tight bun, readily dressed in her servant clothes.

"Mandy!" cried Patrick, rushing up to me and Stardust. She back up from him, me still upon her back. She was protecting me. I patted her neck before sliding off, taking Patrick's hand. I smiled again at Annie.

"Thank you." I said softly. She nodded, also smiling.

"I need to go. I may see you later." she said ruffling Patrick's hair, before turning her back and walking away. I sighed.

"Up you get." I huffed, deciding that Patrick had to stay with me from now on. I helped him climb onto Stardust's back, quickly climbing up after and taking the reins. I made clicking noises with my tongue, soothing her beneath us. Patrick wrapped his arms around my waist as we trotted away. People began to emerge, surprised to see us out and about of my horse. They didn't stare as much, but they still glanced out way.

All had been quiet. No Headless Horseman, no murders, no twisting in my stomach. I had thought about the retching pain the night before, remembering the twist and coils of my intestines. It was so odd. Odder still, the pain had gone at the same pace of the Horseman, relaxing the further he retreated. I felt that it wasn't something normal. It couldn't have been a coincidence.

Noon soon came around, people hesitantly getting on with daily chores. The would look over their shoulder every so often. It was then that they retreated to their households. They locked the doors, shut the windows and closed the curtains. I looked up ahead, only to see that of a carriage approaching in the distance. I felt Patrick tighten his grip of me and I added pressure to Stardust's side, sending her into a fast paced trot.

Henry Bristol came into view, pulled the horses to a stop as we came towards him.

"Miss Thatcher!" he called. "We have guests." he grinned, happy with himself.

"Guests?" I asked, sliding off of Stardust and helping Patrick, too. He stayed hidden behind me. Stardust began to rub her hoof against the ground, something she did when agitated. I stroked her face, staring at the doors of the carriage. I saw moving figures within.

"Yes. Ichabod Crane, Katrina Van Tassel and Young Masbath." oh no, no ,no! I didn't want to put more lives at risk!

"Please, sir, would you take Stardust back to take Patrick with you?" I asked, fighting back a choke. He looked at me strangely but obeyed, taking the reins of Stardust and placing a hand on Patrick's back. I stood motionless, watching the doors finally open. A man appeared, young, scrawny and very wary. His hair was a mop upon his head, brushed out of his face as if he had been windswept. He was dressed formally, of course. He stared down at me, looking oddly frightened. I cleared my throat, keeping eye contact with him.

"Constable Crane?" I asked. His eyebrows lifted, his lips parting. Surprised.

"Are you… Amanda Thatcher?" he asked. His voice sounded as soft as a moth's wing, childlike. I nodded. "Oh." was all he said. Such a strange man.

"Why did you bring them?" I demanded, glaring. He flinched, saying nothing. "Why?" I pressed, taking a step toward the older man, feeling unafraid.

"They insisted upon it." he muttered, turning his back to open the other door, helping out young Katrina Van Tassel. She was just as I remembered her. Golden hair that framed her round face. She was a beautiful woman, I had to admit. Her eyes locked onto mine, and they too were how I remembered. Kind and gentle, that of a strange witch with a kind, loving heart. I also saw worry there.

"The poor dear." I heard her murmur to Ichabod. I glowered. I was about to demand of her why she insisted on arriving when my stomach screamed too suddenly, once again twisting and tightening within me. I imagined my intestines tangle into knots, pulling tighter and tighter until it was almost impossible to untie. I screamed in shock, collapsing onto the leafy floor, curling into a tight ball.

"Miss?" Ichabod exclaimed, his high voice clouded with panic. I began to wretch, this time around having food within me… being rejected. I saw visions. Visions of the monster. Visions of Daredevil. Both together. Plotting. Killing. I saw a woman, her eyes a glow. They were the devil's eyes, bloody red. Her pale face was stained with blood, her once blond hair dark and tangled. I knew her, but I couldn't put a name to her. She was giggling in my head.

"He's coming… he's coming…" I whimpered against my will, having no control over my lips as the words fell.

"Young Masbath! Help me with the girl!" I heard Ichabod order, my eyes no longer seeing. I heard Katrina try to sooth me but I was in too much pain. The coiling grew angrier, getting tighter still. The pain shot through my body, ending at my toes and fingertips. It soon became too much and I fainted, just as my body left the ground, the monster woman's giggles echoing inside my head.

"Move aside!" someone grunted angrily, a low, chilling sound. I heard shuffling close to my head, someone's breath close to my ear. I kept my eyes closed, frightened to open them and see who was there. My body was under some bed sheets, my back sinking into a thick mattress. I knew that I was wearing my thinner under-dress, light and not clinging to my body. I felt something on my head, something cold and wet. It felt refreshing on my skin. But my stomach felt tight, the shooting pain replaced my a burning sensation. It wasn't unbearable like before, just merely uncomfortable, like staying close to an open fire for too long. The knots seemed to be burning away within me.

"Is she going to be alright?" asked a tiny, vulnerable voice, belonging to the person close to my ear. Patrick. My heart ached to see his face, but I was still afraid. To my anger, he was ignored.

"Her body is rejecting something. It is nothing to panic over." came the same annoyed voice, a large, warm hand replacing to cool object upon my head. Another cold object dabbed at my neck, cooling my sweaty skin.

"I don't believe so. She looked like she was in such pain." came a quieter, softer voice on my other side. Katrina.

"Who is the doctor here, miss?" snapped the first. There was a pause.

"A beast was within her, sir, possessing her, causing her vile pain. It is no fever." Katrina said, her voice even. I could tell that she was hiding her spite toward the man talking to her. Something brushed my hair somewhat lovingly. Her hand, her fingers weaving between the chocolate locks. It reminded me too much of mother. My eyes snapped open. A young, black haired man stood above me, a frown on his brow. I recognized him as Francis Butcher, the sour doctor who had replaced Doctor Lancaster after the old man died by a cross in the name of God. He was cold towards anyone, people believing he had a bad history with mankind. No one truly knew. I was pretty sure he hated his job. His eyes looked back at me, the blue sapphires stabbing into me. I gulped.

"Waste of time." he growled, pulling away and standing straight. Patrick sighed deeply with relief. I ignored Katrina and turned my head to him, smiling when he did. As I tried to sit up my head spun, the walls moving along with the people within them. I groaned. I rubbed my temples with my fingers, laying back onto the pillow.

"I feel strange." I said, my voice groggy, as if I had been in a deep sleep. How long was I unconscious?

"I made a potion to ease the pain, darling." Katrina murmured. I frowned to myself. Patrick patted my hand, which lay limp on my lap. I suddenly heard the door slam shut, causing me to flinch. "He has quite a temper." Katrina observed.

"Yes, miss, he isn't very cheery. Very scary, actually." Patrick said and Katrina smiled warmly at him. I then realized something.

"Where is Ichabod Crane?" I asked her, staring at her beautiful face. Her smile fell.

"He and Masbath have… well, gone to observe something." she murmured, her eyes guarded. I knew exactly what she meant but she was hiding it for Patrick's benefit. They were examining mother and father. I shuddered at the thought. As if right on cue, Ichabod and Masbath came through the door, both looking extremely nervous. It was then that I realized that I had no idea where we were.

The room was large and roomy, the door in the far corner with which Ichabod had to duck to get through. There was a single bed which I lay on and a desk by the window, a small wooden chair tucked underneath. It was a perfect bedroom. But what building was I in? I pushed it aside, watching the man and boy observe us.

"It is good to see you well again, Amanda." Masbath said, smiling slightly. I smiled back. It had been so long since I had seen my young friend. He hadn't changed one little bit. Brown, short hair, a pale oval face and tall for his age. It was strange seeing him next to Ichabod. They looked oddly matched, man and child working together.

"It is nice to see you well, too." I said, only being polite. I had no time for a friendship reunion. My eyes locked onto Ichabod's. He studied me and I knew what he was thinking. I looked away, not knowing the answer myself. He wanted to know what happened to me, that was clear. I sank deeper into my pillow, pulling the sheets up to my chin and closing my eyes, shivering. The potion Katrina had given me may have been working, but the pain was still fighting to break through, punching through the burning barriers. It was then that I knew something was extremely off. When I shivered, so did everyone else. It was dusk outside, the sun slowly falling behind the clouds and making the sky a mix of bloody red and a burning orange. In the clouds I saw something completely out of the ordinary.

"Look at the clouds." I whispered, my voice croaky. Everyone looked out through the window.

"Faces." Masbath said, more to himself than the others.

"Monsters." Katrina breathed. I agreed with both. They were the faces of monsters. About seven were dotted into view, some with horns and others with devil created fangs. The eyes were all the same. The red sky made them glow. The worst part was the devilish grins, absurdly big and menacing. Demons. Patrick began to whimper beside me, grabbing my hand in both of his and squeezing tightly. I barely noticed. And then there was the screech of a horse!

I shot up on the bed, carelessly pulling my hand away from Patrick and the leaping over to the window, Ichabod and Masbath right behind me. I didn't care that so much of me was exposed, the skirt only reaching up to my knees, the under-dress being loose on me. I was more bothered about what I saw next. The Hessian… headless yet again! He rode confidently on the black horse who galloped through the village down below.

I saw people running, I heard people screaming. A group of children cried for their mothers, husbands yelled for their wives. But the Hessian was chasing someone, Daredevil knocking people out of his way with his hooves. I watching in horror as a little boy screamed… and screamed… and… fell! He was only young! Only eight or nine years old! I could tell _that_ even from a distance. And then his body fell, his tiny head rolling…

People screamed even louder, scrambling away like a flock of sheep. I could see a woman reaching out toward the dead boy, being held back my her husband and two teenage sons. The mother. It was then that I threw up, coughing and retching on the floor. My body quivered. I never realized that I had been screaming the whole time.

* * *

Hey! i will bring in more of Ichabod, i promise! trust me there will be a lot more of him! x x


End file.
